


Cornucopia of Love

by TNB



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Fluff, Happy Ending, Horror, Hunk: where did this [insert meat] come from, Keith: oh god he took it? are we dating now?, M/M, innocent vacationer hunk, mild dread, monster Keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 12:54:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15707628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TNB/pseuds/TNB
Summary: Hunk has driven miles into the mountains to spend the week in a log cabin. It's small with only the necessities; an outhouse, a wood-burning stove, and a mysterious stranger that keeps leaving gifts for Hunk on the porch.Or: Hunk gets a little too friendly with something that goes 'bump' in the night.





	Cornucopia of Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bouquetofwhoopsiedaisies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bouquetofwhoopsiedaisies/gifts).



> My gift to [gold-leeaf](https://gold-leeaf.tumblr.com/) for the Voltron Monstertron Exchange! I had a lot of fun playing with this and I'm so glad I went with the heith prompt now that season 7 gifted us with so many great moments!

There’s something in the woods, Hunk’s decided.

It’s just turning dusk on the second day of his vacation and he now has reason to believe he, and the other forest animals, are not alone.

While opening the small cabin’s door to collect more wood for the stove Hunk discovers another present. It’s a deer leg, this time. Perfectly severed at the thigh, but the cut is jagged unlike a knife. More like claws.

Yesterday evening, his first night, it was a fat rabbit with its neck broken.

These gifts, under friendlier circumstances, would have been warmly welcomed by Hunk, who is both a gift and food lover. But right now, he feels a cold jolt of fear run down his spine, anchoring his feet to the ground in paralysis. He stares into the forest, barely lit by the red waning sun, desperately trying to seek any kind of movement.

The loud call of cicadas and other insects drone in his ears, and a drop of sweat glides down his temple. A bird keens in the distance. He waits.

When he deems it solitary, and feels the blood in him run warm again, he gently picks up the leg with a towel and brings it into the kitchen, dropping it into the sink and giving it a thorough wash.

He skins the leg of its fur, pulling it from the muscle with a satisfying amount of strength that keeps his mind off his admirer for a moment. It doesn’t last as he looks up to the kitchen window, the only cover being a near see-through drape probably made in the 1950’s. The forest is almost dark now, and Hunk knows that while he can’t see anything out of the window, the lights will allow anything out there to see in.

Hunk mentally curses his brother for backing out of their vacation, it was supposed to be him and his brother and his brother’s wife and his niece and nephew together. A family vacation. But they couldn’t make it at the last minute for a new job opportunity and Hunk had already taken the week off, there was no point in not going and wasting an already paid rental.

The crack of a stick outside has him snap out of his thoughts and bolt upright, on high alert. He wishes the blood and beat of his heart pumping in his ears wouldn’t be so loud as he waits for any other noise. But nothing comes.

He decides not to peek out the window. It was probably just a raccoon or something. An opossum.

With the leg of meat cleaned and ready, Hunk lays out the rest of the ingredients. A glass baking dish, potatoes (halved), onions (coarsely chopped), carrots (cut thick enough to be hearty, but thin enough to cook easily), garlic (minced), red wine, salt, pepper, tarragon, and other spices. He arranges the bake neatly and slides it into the waiting oven.

While he waits for dinner to cook Hunk busies himself by cleaning up, scrubbing the dirty knives and utensils he used to cut everything. As he wipes down the knife he skinned the deer leg with, a reflection from the window above the sink startles him, it’s a dark shadow. A large one.

Hunk drops the knife in the sink and falls backwards onto the hardwood floor, looking up to the window to see nothing.

“It’s just my nerves,” he whispers to himself, “you’re seeing things because you expect to see them.”

The leg of meat sizzles in the oven, wafting throughout the small cabin.

After dinner Hunk is left with a lot of meat. He cuts and bags some for a sandwich tomorrow but knows the rest will go bad if left uneaten. He gets a jolt of bravery and quickly opens the door, sliding the plate onto the wood porch towards the stairs, and then quickly closes and latches it back up. It takes a span of seconds, if Hunk has to guess.

He knows its dumb, knows that a bear or mountain lion or, let’s be real, probably raccoons will get to it by morning light and he’ll be left with a broken dish. But part of him wonders if something really is out there, and wonders if it will leave him alone with the returned gift.

In the morning the dish is clean. So clean, in fact, that it’s gone. Vanished. Vamoose. There’s no bone, either.

Hunk stares down at the spot where he left the plate in thought, rubbing his boot back and forth on the wood. There are no broken pieces of porcelain as far as he can see, either.

A warm summer breeze wafts through the trees giving him a lungful of pine and oak, but out of the corner of his eye Hunk spots something. Caught on the bannister of the porch from a splinter of wood is a large chunk of hair. As Hunk gets closer he can see that it’s dark, midnight black and very glossy. He gently pulls it from the wood and rubs it between his fingers, the feeling soft and silky until the hairs start to grit together.

As he rubs it, the hair catches in the wind and blows away.

 

* * *

 

Hunk is excited to have pleased, and gotten rid of, whatever demonic god or spirit or entity that doesn’t exist but has also been haunting him for the past two nights. So pleased that he’s not expecting the fresh, still gaping river salmon when he opens the front door at twilight.

He stops cold in the doorway, afraid to move once more. It’s like every tree, every bush, every whisper of wind has its eyes on him, waiting for his next move. His hands shake as he reaches out for the next gift, and wonders what it will take to make it stop. Wonders what will happen when he tries to leave in four days. If he can leave.

A shrill cry calls out overhead, and a killdeer flies in so close to Hunk’s head he can feel the touch of soft wings. In the moment of panic, he drops the salmon and it bounces down the steps and into the dirt and grass.

The fish gapes again, its glass eye pointed right at him, and Hunk hesitates to walk down the steps to fetch it.

If he leaves it, Hunk thinks, maybe the gifts will stop.

_But_ , his voice also says, _then the gifts will stop. And you will never know._

It feels like the breaking point, the deciding factor. Whether Hunk is going all in for this mystery or leaving it behind for comfort. Hunk thinks back to his act of bravery last night, opening the door to feed his ‘guest.’

He slowly makes his way down the wooden steps, each creaking with the weight, and a couple of crickets jump out in surprise. The killdeer from earlier stares at him from the ground, closer to the woods. And the dark. She watches him with interest as he picks up the fish again and makes his way back into the cabin.

He feels eyes on the back of his neck the whole way in, but it’s starting to seem like a familiar weight and Hunk isn’t sure if he should be worried or not.

The cleaning goes normally, the scales scrape off with Hunk’s practiced ease, and he guts the salmon with a quick jerk and twist of his knife. The intestines spill into the sink like meaty spaghetti and he runs his fingers inside the hollow to fish out the rest. It’s pungent and damp and if Hunk hadn’t done this a million times over he’d probably throw up.

He remembers throwing up the first time his mom showed him how to gut a fish, and Hunk can’t help but feel proud at how far he’s come. And a little eager at how far he still has to go.

Once cleaned cooking fish is a quick task, so Hunk has a meal of pan-fried garlic lemon and herb salmon and asparagus in next to no time. It’s warm and comforting in a way that being so far from the ocean usually isn’t to him.

He leaves another plate on the porch outside, this time with a glass of wine.

It’s no use, he knows. It’s just animals taking and burying it.

The next morning the plate is gone once more, but this time so is the wine glass.

And there’s a long, jagged mark in the porch.

* * *

 

The rain pounds the windowpane as Hunk busies himself in the kitchen, stoking the fire and checking on the food. Abruptly, a sound comes from the front door.

It’s caught between a scratch and a knock, like the owner isn’t sure which they should do or what the protocol is. The sound is distinct enough to make Hunk pause, and then wait to see if it comes again. He knows it will, there was nothing else it could have been.

The light tapping is back, fingernails trailing down the wooden door that scratch enough to put the fear of god in Hunk. _This is it_ , he thinks, _this is the answer_.

Slowly, with paisley oven mitts still on, Hunk pulls the door open and there stands a young man, soaking wet.

Hunk’s first intrusive thought it that he’s beautiful. The pouring rain runs down his face in rivulets, and drips heavily from his dark black hair. It frames his delicately pointed face nicely and distracts Hunk from the fact that he is only wearing a pair of tattered jeans.

“A- are you alright?” Hunk stutters out, finally moving from his frozen position in the doorway. “You should come in. Can you walk?”

The young man stares at Hunk, and then slowly ambles inside as Hunk moves from the doorway to allow entry. As he moves water drips off him and leaves dark, almost black puddles on the ground which Hunk tries to avoid. Hunk ushers him into the kitchen and to sit at one of the dining table chairs, and then runs over to the stove to check on the food.

“Are you the one that’s been leaving me the gi- food?”

Hunk almost says gifts but catches himself before spilling out his own bizarre thoughts. The young man, still looking at Hunk with his dark eyes, nods slowly.

Hunk can’t believe it, his mysterious admirer here in his kitchen. And a human being to boot.

“Thank you. For the food, I mean. It’s been a lot of fun working with things I don’t normally cook, like the rabbit and deer.”

Hunk stops himself from mentioning the strange noises at night, pushing it from his mind.

“You should stay for dinner, until the rain clears. I’m cooking the pork you left.”

“It’s not. Pork.”

The man speaks quietly, with a gravel to his voice that immediately catches Hunk’s attention and holds it in fervor, waiting, wanting to hear him talk again.

When the young man makes no move to elaborate Hunk asks a soft, “what?”

“The meat, it’s not pork,” the man grits out, like it’s painful, like he’s forgotten how to speak. Maybe he has if he’s been living out here alone.

“It’s cougar.”

Hunk stares at him, and then down at the plate he’s about to serve. Upon closer inspection the meat seems tougher, grittier. More muscle.

“Caaaaan I still eat it?” Hunk asks. The young man nods, so Hunk shrugs and serves the platter to the table.

“Good enough for me, then! I’ll tell you what, having a week by yourself is nice, but nothing beats company at dinner.”

It’s so strange, having a tangible person here who is responsible for Hunk’s utmost darkest thoughts and fears the past three nights. He almost wants to laugh at the absurdity because _of course_ it was some mountain hermit and not a monster. Hunk’s not a child.

The young man looks down at his plate as Hunk piles the food on but still says nothing. Hunk dismisses him as shy and rambles on about nothing, filling the gaps of conversation by pouring tea and checking on the weather outside.

Despite the lack of reciprocated conversation, the young man is good company and seems genuinely invested in everything Hunk has to say. It’s a nice change of pace from his loud, rambunctious family.

“So,” Hunk starts again, “you got a name?”

The young man looks taken aback, like he wasn’t expecting this question. Hunk waits, waits to see what he’ll do or say. Wonders if he’ll rush out the door and never bother Hunk with his ominous gifts again.

“Keith,” he says, finally. Determinedly. Like he’s trying to prove it to Hunk, and himself.

“My name is Keith.”

 

* * *

 

Keith promised to come back the next evening, with another gift of food.

“You don’t have to keep bringing me things, I have enough to last me the week,” Hunk says.

But Keith is insistent, claiming he’ll bring something even better the next day. Something Hunk will appreciate more, cougar can be an acquired taste. Keith would know.

So, Hunk waits; he reads a book on the porch, plucks some Russian sage to dry out, readies the oven with wood for the evening. There are a number of stains on the hardwood floors, now, that weren’t there when Hunk first arrived. Dark brown-black spots that seem to have sunk into the floors and can’t be scrubbed out.

When the sun finally starts to pass the line of trees Hunk waits on the porch, running his hands along the old wind catchers while closing his eyes to the feel of the breeze.

When he opens them Keith is there.

Hunk jolts in fear like its second nature, like this is something he should be afraid of, but quickly calms as he recognizes the face. Keith is dry this time and wearing a ratty oil stained t-shirt with his tattered jeans tonight. He’s just as handsome as Hunk remembers.

Keith holds out his arm and Hunk looks down; dangling from his fists are two quails, their necks snapped.

“I didn’t know if you wanted them fresher, I can get more,” Keith says after Hunk doesn’t say anything.

“No, no this is fine. It’s just surprising, seeing you bring it to me. It still doesn’t feel real, like I’m expecting something else to be leaving it.” Something unlike a person, Hunk doesn’t say.

Keith turns his head and looks behind him while Hunk talks, staring into the forest. “You wouldn’t be wrong,” Keith says quietly.

Hunk invites Keith inside again and they both get to work plucking and readying the quails, their small and delicate bodies giving way to Hunk’s methodical touch and Keith’s rough one. By the end it’s obvious who’s quail was cleaned by whom, but both are still ready for the oven.

The birds are dressed in honey, orange juice, garlic, and cumin and the smell wafts through the cabin as they roast. Keith looks much more at ease this time, a welcome guest rather than an intruder. He helps Hunk in the kitchen, grabbing spices and utensils as Hunk calls out for them. They fall into a steady and comfortable rhythm.

As Hunk tosses the salad in a light vinaigrette dressing Keith watches his hands almost hypnotically, never faltering in their watch, never blinking. When Hunk sets the salad down and Keith is still watching Hunk breaks his concentration.

“Uh, Keith? You okay?”

Keith snaps up to Hunk’s eyes and blinks multiple times consecutively, “yeah, yeah. Sorry, just lost my train of thought I guess.”

Hunk and Keith set the table and they both eat dinner in relative silence. It’s peaceful, a comfortable weight. Nothing like the weight of the dark forest watching Hunk, pressing into his dreams at night, scratching at his porch while he sleeps. Keith’s weight it warm. Friendly.

But still mysterious.

“So, you’ve lived here a long time then?” Hunk asks.

“Yes. Probably your whole life.”

That’s an odd way of putting it, Hunk thinks. He tries again.

“What do you do for fun? Do you go into town a lot? It’s kind of a far drive but I’m sure it gets pretty quiet around here.”

“No, I don’t ever go into town. It’s only quiet after the summer season, after the renters stop coming to the cabin. Then I sleep.”

It’s like he’s speaking in riddles and Hunk can’t make heads or tails of it. “You don’t go into town? Then how do you survive? Where do you get all of your food?”

“I catch it,” Keith states, simply.

Hunk cottons on that he won’t be getting a straightforward answer with him and changes the conversation to a question he’s been keen to get around to. “So, I put out some plates of the food you left me the first couple of nights. They were gone in the morning. Was that you?”

Keith looks like a child who’s been caught red-handed doing something naughty, shoulders up to his earlobes. “Wh- what? I mean, yeah you put food out so I just. I just thought it was for me, I didn’t mean to be snooping around. And you were taking the things I was leaving so I just assumed- assumed it was for me.”

“So, what happened to my plates? Did you take them?”

“Yeah, I would hear you turn or breathe in your sleep, so I panicked and took the plates. All of them.” Keith looked like he was sweating now.

“So… you like my cooking, then?” Hunk asks demurely.

Keith bangs his palms onto the table with a loud “Yes!” It’s like a light has been switched. The shy, strange hermit that Hunk had originally met is replaced with a newborn person with eyes shining in their passion. Keith goes on and on about the complex flavors of Hunk’s cooking, and how after living off bland food he can catch for years he’s finally had a meal, or four, that’s truly opened his eyes to how food can be an experience. And even better, a shared one.

“Hunk, I’ve never eaten anything so good before. And I’ve never been so happy before, either.”

Hunk feels tears swell up in his eyes, and before he knows it he’s out of his seat and crushing Keith in a hug.

The night, unfortunately, must end. Hunk sadly tells Keith that tomorrow is his last night in the cabin, and that he’ll be driving home the following morning. Keith looks heartbroken but promises to come back the next night with their parting dinner.

“It’s okay, Hunk. Everyone leaves eventually, you’re just the only one who’s ever accepted my gifts.”

 

* * *

 

It’s Hunk’s last day and he’s decided to chop firewood to replace all he’s used up so far, it’s only fair for the next visitors. The sun is beating on his back and he sweats through his overshirt, lifting it over his head and tying it around his waist in favor of the wifebeater under it. The work is manual and monotonous but keeps his mind and body busy enough to stop thinking about Keith for a couple of hours.

Keith, who lives in the woods somewhere close by. Keith, who’s been leaving Hunk gifts of luscious food.

Keith, who has no last name, no origin, nobody.

Hunk feels a lightning crack of discovery run through him like he’s on the verge of something, except it’s interrupted abruptly as the killdeer swoops by again and crash lands next to his pile of wood. She flutters around beating her wing upon the ground, stumbling in cries of pain.

“Oh no, you poor thing come here let me help you. Is your wing broken?” Hunk calls, but as he gets closer the bird flutters a few feet ahead and then starts stumbling again beating her wing in pain.

Hunk chases her as she keeps fluttering closer to the woods, and then crosses the threshold into them. He stops dead at the line of trees. He hasn’t crossed them in the week he’s been here, since he drove in to stay at the cabin. It felt untouchable, like a place you shouldn’t go if you wanted to come back.

Hunk decides he’s toed the line enough this week so what’s once more and passes through the trees. He follows the killdeer’s trail, lined with small feathers and dirt where she beat her wings. He calls gently every so often, trying to get her to calm down, but it doesn’t work and the only way he knows he’s going the right direction at this point is the shrill cries she gives off every so often.

The trees start to get denser, and the sunshine starts to grow thinner as the canopy closes in. He’s in the deep woods, then, and he didn’t bring any emergency supplies. No compass, no map. No water.

The killdeer’s shrills suddenly grow sharp and piercing, and Hunk rushes towards the noise afraid she’s been caught by a fox or coyote only to find her alive, perfectly healthy and perched on a rusted weathervane.

“You! You tricky little thing, you were faking!” Hunk shouts, but the bird only calls mockingly after him as she flies off again.

It takes Hunk a minute to realize where he is, or more importantly where he isn’t.

The birdfeeder is surrounded by an unkept cabin and dilapidated shed, both overgrown with ivy and shutters closed. Nailed. It would have been scary if Hunk hadn’t been now sure this was Keith’s home.

The yard is less of a yard and more an extension of the forest, surrounded by trees and shrubs. The sun barely pierces through, blocking any chance of grass growing. Instead, moss lines the rocks and trees and other lichens sprout sporadically.

Hunk walks up to the front door, less afraid now, and knocks gently. A soft _tap tap tap_.

He waits, realizing he’s never seen Keith in the sun. In the light. Hunk is sure he would be beautiful with the warm glow bouncing off his silky hair and creamy skin. He’s beautiful in the dark but he would be blinding in the light.

Hunk waits a beat. No movement, no answer. He knocks again. The cicadas, all in one movement, grow louder buzzing in his ears and droning in the trees. It’s so loud it seems to drown out every other thing in the forest, Hunk quickly covers his ears but it’s still too much. His head starts to throb, and his heart beat quickens. Without thinking, Hunk pulls on the doorknob and it clicks open. Unlocked.

Hunk stumbles in and quickly closes the door behind him, blocking the loud noise. His heart rate begins to return to normal as he turns and gets a good look at the inside. The cabin is in shambles. Old curtains hang from the windows in tatters, a table is turned over onto its side and is missing all but two chairs that are beaten and worn. As Hunk walks closer he sees large gashes in their legs. There’s what was once a pretty, flower patterned loveseat that’s now missing large chunks of its stuffing. Tiles from the kitchen counter are broken and litter the floor.

The worst part, the part that Hunk hasn’t even grasped yet, is how there’s a thick coating of dust over everything. Like it’s all completely untouched.

Hunk wishes he could open a window to get some light in, but the shutters are all nailed closed. Barely a whisper of sun peaks through the cracks. He decides that no, Keith must not live here after all, the cabin is completely abandoned, and turns to leave. As Hunk reaches for the door to open it he finds it stuck.

“No way…” Hunk whispers, like he’s compelled to whisper. “Come on buddy, I gotta get back.”

Hunk yanks at the door, twisting the knob back and forth to no avail. Finally, he turns his back on it and slides down the door onto the floor.

“How did this even happen to me? Sure, Hunk, run off chasing a wounded bird into the dark and scary forest like some princess why don’t you? Then you can get yourself stuck in a creepy cabin! There’s definitely not some weird, compelling being trying to keep you here. Nope, not at all.”

Hunk wondered if Keith would go looking for him after he didn’t answer the door that evening. Or if his family would call a search party when he didn’t show up home tomorrow.

While his brain listed Hunk must have fallen asleep, because what felt like moments later he jolted up with a chill through him. It was that feeling again, like he was being watched.

The cabin was completely dark now, and Hunk could barely make out the shapes of the furniture. He must have been out for a while, then. And now it was night. Alone. In an abandoned cabin. In the woods.

Certainly his situation could have been much, much worse (like being outside in a thunderstorm with no shelter, or being chased by a bear, for example), but that didn’t exempt the fact that this was still not a good situation.

The sound of something dragging made Hunk go stock still. It was coming from the back of the cabin, presumably where the bedroom was. It was like cloth being dragged across the wood floor, only something hard was there too creating an almost scratching noise. Like a coin running over the hardwoods, or a fingernail. Or a claw.

Adrenaline seeped through Hunk’s body and he made a second attempt at the door, yanking and twisting and finally throwing his whole body against it trying to gain his freedom. The door groaned at the weight but didn’t budge.

The sound was getting closer, but Hunk still couldn’t see anything in the dark, not even the outline of whatever was skulking towards him. It stopped in the kitchen, mere feet from Hunk, and he could here slow, cold breaths through the night air.

“Hhhhunk? Whhhhat are you doing hhhere?”

It was Keith’s voice! Only it wasn’t Keith’s body, or really anything. The voice sounded faded but reverberated off all the walls and Hunk heard it all around him. Like a weird echo chamber playing an old record.

“Keith, holy crow am I glad to hear you! I followed a wounded bird, only she wasn’t wounded, and I ended up here, but then I got stuck in this cabin. We need to find a way out!”

“A wwway out? Hunk, I can’t just llllleave,” Keith’s voice said.

“What do you mean? I think with both of our bodies we can probably knock this door down.”

Hunk could finally make out the shape of something in the dark, across the room from him. It was large and looked hunched over, but he couldn’t make out any details.

“Hhhhunk. I can’t just lllleave.” The voice was getting closer now, and the dragging noise started moving again. Towards Hunk. As it approached, the hulking mass in the dark started to form more and more.

“I’m bbbbound to this ppplace. Sssstuck here. Ssstruck down here.”

Hunk shivered at the words _struck down_. “You can’t leave? Keith, do you actually live here? This place looks abandoned. You should really clean up…”

“Sssshe keeps me here. Ssshe won’t let me go anymore. Hhhunk you must leave now. I wwwon’t let you get hurt.”

“Keith,” Hunk said quietly, “I’m not leaving you alone here.”

The form was gaining leverage on Hunk now, towering over him in both height and width, taking up every bit of space within the cabin and almost even within Hunk himself.

“Yyyou must leave. NOW!”

At that moment every shutter in the cabin flew open, the nails ripped from the walls and shooting towards Hunk. The dark mass before Hunk shrouded him, protecting him from the metal shrapnel. The nails fell to the hardwood inches from Hunk’s face, their dead weight clinking in the night.

“Shhhe’s gaining her powers back. Shhhe’ll hurt you Hunk. Sssummer is fading and I’m losing my strength.”

Hunk had no idea what any of that meant, but he wasn’t leaving without Keith. The windows were now open to the forest and all of the creature’s of the night, Hunk was sure they were being watched. “Keith you have to come with me, I won’t go otherwise.”

Suddenly, howls rang out through the night, what sounded like hundreds of them. Accompanied by grunts and screams and caws from every direction around the cabin. Hunk wanted to run, wanted to scream but he stood firmly waiting for Keith.

“Go bbback to your cabin, I will be behhhind you. Do not turn around, do nnnot look!”

Hunk nodded and took off, jumping out the closest window and running in what he thought was the direction he came from. He heard hisses and squeals and terrifying noises all around him, but he also heard the dragging noise from behind and knew Keith was not far behind.

It felt like hours, but finally Hunk saw the cabin up ahead, safety so close ahead. His breathing was ragged but he still ran right up to the door. When his hand reached the doorknob it all stopped. Every noise, every croak, every screech. The night went completely silent save the insects.

Hunk wanted so badly to turn around, to look for Keith. Instead, he opened the door and went inside.

Hunk came back to Keith’s cabin the next morning, leaving the front door wide open to let the sun’s light spill in like golden tea. Hunk rummaged about this time, looking for something, anything that could be tied to Keith. Anything that would bind him to this place. He didn’t find anything significant, but he did find the plates and wine glass Keith had taken.

It almost didn’t feel real, that this trip had only been a week. But he felt like he knew Keith for a lifetime.

He didn’t touch the plates, leaving them as a parting gift along with a couple of Hunk’s spice jars and his own personal cookbook. Just in case Keith got the urge to try out his own stove.  

Hunk left Keith’s cabin, packed his belongings, and started the long journey home in his car. Before walking out he promised Keith he would come back and free him, whispered it into the cabin like an oath. And he planned to do just that. It was going to be a long winter, but Hunk knew summer wasn’t far behind.

 

* * *

 

1 Year Later

Hunk was laid out in bed with Keith, the smaller man facedown against Hunk’s chest and sleeping peacefully. A glittering silver dagger displayed on the bedside table, winking innocently in the lamplight.

_What a trial,_ Hunk thought.

The dagger belonged to Keith, an artifact from his previous life, and a painful reminder of his current one.

“I don’t mind,” Keith had said. “As long as I get to spend it with you. As long as I don’t scare you…”

“You don’t scare me,” Hunk said, “anymore, at least.”

Keith had laughed, and brushed Hunk’s hair out of his eyes. And gently kissed Hunk. And then _passionately_ kissed Hunk. Oh man, he was getting a little heated thinking about it. He ran his hand down Keith’s back at the thought, how exciting and nerve-wracking their first time had been. Keith was so scared of hurting Hunk. Hunk was so scared of not being good enough.

It had been clumsy and sweet, which quickly made way to exciting and libidinous. Now their nights were filled with love and each other. Hunk couldn’t believe how lucky he was.

Keith stirred in his sleep, and blinked up slowly at Hunk, pupils dilated. “Hunk, what time is it?”

“Late,” Hunk replied. It was past midnight and Hunk had work the next day, but sometimes he got so caught up in his thoughts or reading that the time just slipped.

“Trouble sleeping?” Keith asked, crawling up Hunk to kiss him when he didn’t say anything. Hunk felt Keith lick across his bottom lip and opened up giving him access. Keith moaned his thanks and Hunk felt the kiss deepen, his face growing hot with blood.

When they parted Hunk was only given a second to recover before Keith was at his neck, trailing kisses and light sucks down to his shoulder.

“Keith, please,” Hunk whispers. Keith ignores him, taking his time with Hunk’s necks and then his shoulder, finally trailing kisses down his arm. It’s a wildly romantic gesture, and Hunk isn’t sure how to react. Keith kisses the tip of each of Hunk’s fingers, and then the palm. He waits for Hunk’s direction.

“P- please. Inside,” is all Hunk can manage.

“Hunk,” Keith prompts, and Hunk knows to turn over head down and onto his knees. Keith is still shy about his true body, and Hunk wasn’t going to argue with him over something so small. Well, not small. Keith was huge and lumbered over him with a warm weight.

Hunk would see him one day, they had all the time in the world now with the witch out of the way. All that mattered right now was that Hunk could _feel_ Keith, everywhere. All over him, a constant presence within and without.

It was like being swallowed whole by something that wanted nothing more than to please you and keep you safe. And that’s exactly how Hunk felt, safe and warm.

When they finished, and Hunk felt himself cradled securely in Keith’s arms, he thought back to that first week in the cabin. How blind he had been to accept such a dangerous gift. And how lucky he was to be given such a loving one.

"Thanks for the meal," Keith jokes.

**Author's Note:**

> Talk to me on twitter! [@TNBwrites](https://twitter.com/TNBwrites)


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